This is where to come to cut yourself off completely. On the east coast of New Zealand's South Island, an hour-and-a-half drive from Christchurch, is Annandale, a fabulous 4,000-acre working farm. Fabulous because, as well as producing beef and wool, it has four beautiful hideaways for guests seeking ethereal isolation. The latest showstopper is Seascape, a dreamy, open-plan retreat niftily etched into a hillside overlooking a smile-shaped private bay.

Inside, you'll find locally quarried stone, cowhide rugs and cashmere throws, along with a lovely big hardwood bed beneath pale native-timber ceilings - all set within floor-to-ceiling glass geometry with views of the rocky shoreline. The fridge is stocked with easy-to-prepare meals labelled with instructions by Annandale's innovative chef, including plump prawns with Japanese guacamole and popped muesli, and lamb shoulder with smoked-kumara puree, vine tomatoes and chickpea shoots. It means guests can come here and be entirely independent without the need for room service or a restaurant nearby.

Bed down, watching sure-footed Romney sheep totter across the steep slopes to feed on messy patches of grass, or spot paradise ducks, dolphins and fur seals frolicking in the water from the stone terrace or hot tub. New Zealand might have a strong showing of sophisticated seaside super-lodges, but this one ramps it up again.

The exclusive hideout of Malibu has been beyond the reach of anyone without their own toes-in-the-sand beach house since the 1930s. Hotels are scarce. Good luck getting a room at the new Nobu Ryokan. But at this fresh little hangout, architect Matthew Goodwin and his creative-director wife Emma are inviting guests into the inner circle. Goodwin grew up riding waves at the beach opposite and, after a decade in New York, he found he missed the easy-going lifestyle. So he couldn’t pass up the chance to resurrect The Surfrider, which first opened as a motel in 1953.

He’s cleverly sidestepped the more obvious mid-century look; instead, rooms are reimagined in clean, contemporary California style. Everything is tactile, from the Turkish-wool waffle bathrobes by Venice Beach-based Parachute to the rough-hewn, reclaimed-wood coffee tables and teak beds custom-made by Croft House LA and Malibu Market & Design. Days unfold simply: catch sunrise from the balcony, maybe borrow one of the bespoke surfboards (designed for Malibu waves with LA’s Wax Surf Co), then cross the road to the pier for brunch. Here, the Malibu Farm Café serves greens from biodynamic One Gun Ranch, Alice Bamford’s innovative farm up in the Santa Monica mountains.

Nearby, there are canyons and sea cliffs to hike, or you can try to score a table at Soho House offshoot the Little Beach House Malibu. But a more low-key place to be is The Surfrider’s guests-only roof deck for sundowners of Aperol-spiked Apres Surf. Here’s a hotel tapping into the So-Cal scene that we just can’t get enough of. So, for now at least, this has to be the sweetest spot on the Pacific Coast Highway.

Hidden by a spiky patch of pine beneath the village of Brusje on the quiet side of Hvar, Little Green Bay is the work of Frenchman Mathieu Grinberg and his designer sister Julie. The pair restored an old Croatian farmhouse and opened it last summer with 15 rooms that feel indoor-outdoor with polished concrete, woven furniture and rosemary-planted terraces overlooking the cove. On the south of the island the sea is gin-clear - here, on Hvar's craggy north-west coast, the Adriatic sparkles with all the shades of turquoise. The water is gloriously warm, and guests bob about until sunset. Then it's up the pebble beach to the rooftop bistro for the freshest fish and octopus, or to the herb garden for outdoor massages with sun-warmed essential oils. On an island known for its fun-loving scene, this secluded spot is somewhere to simply fall asleep to the sound of waves.

Less is more - except at breakfast. If only all design hotels understood this rule. At Puglia's suavely minimalist, eco-friendly and good-value Masseria Moroseta, a deeply photogenic (and consumable) morning feast of homemade cakes, stove-top espresso, seasonal-fruit-and-ginger smoothies, natural yogurt from the neighbouring dairy farm and other delights mock the austerity of a scrubbed-pine table. But Moroseta's 'more' also lies in what can't be captured by camera. Too many places that display this degree of beauty feel chilly when you get up close. Not so here, where profound design flair is combined with the easy-going warmth that Puglia does so well.

Owner Carlo Lanzini is the compère of the cultured house party that Moroseta encourages: discreetly present, he dispenses good advice and good local wine too. Designed by British architect Andrew Trotter in a contemporary idiom that blends Puglian rusticity and Bauhaus modernism, the six-room B&B is simple but smart: a courtyard flanked by guest rooms, each with a small garden; a stylish, sitting room and bar; a cool slick of an outdoor pool, its rigid geometry softened by the gnarled olive trees beyond. The oil from these gentle giants is drizzled on the many farm-to-table antipasti served up for dinner by chef Giuseppe two or three times a week - quite enough, in Lanzini's opinion, as there are so many great restaurants to discover in the area. It also goes into the soaps and body lotions in the bathrooms, which, like most things here - from linen towels to naïf Grottaglie ceramics - are on sale. Unlike resident bulldog Beppe, who will, however, pose for guests' shots with all the attitude of a true diva.

Bosjes is a South African farmstay with a celestial outlook. Hightailing on the success of ultra-smart Babylonstoren and Boschendal, the retreat is set on 300 hectares of sugarbush, fruit and olive groves about an hour's drive from Cape Town. The land has belonged to the same family since 1831, and the owner's reverence for its natural beauty is reflected in the divine proportions of this striking, glass-walled chapel on the estate. It's a fine place from which to appreciate the peak of Waaihoek in all its rose-tinged glory at dusk.

Architect Coetzee Steyn references the mountains as well as Psalm 36:7 ('take refuge in the shadow of your wings') with the extraordinary, undulating roof that seems to float above reflective pools, quite the feat of engineering. The original stable block has been converted into a guesthouse with exposed brick walls and a luminous, grassy palette inspired by the landscape. A swimming pool, gather-round fire pit, eat-in kitchen and five bedrooms (plus a loft bunkhouse) make it a great space for house parties and big families.

At the farm restaurant, dishes such as Karoo lamb chops with tabouleh and mint yogurt are served against a whimsical mural created from 366 Delft-esque blue-and-white tiles, which tells the story of Bosjes' surroundings - the richness of the indigenous plants, the natural springs, meditative gardens and herds of springbok and eland. Profits from staying at Bosjes will be filtered into the local community for a school and crèche - so by checking in you'll be helping out.

Casa Madera is an anti-hotel slice of beach-hut living; a no-frills, open-to-the-breeze hobbit creation for hippies. Made by hand, with floorboards creaking like old violins, it sits on a little stilted promontory overlooking Tulum's magnificent seaside. It's the beach hut you were always looking for but had no idea where to find - lo-fi and insouciantly cool, but a vital step on from the A-frames you spent your early 20s in.

The fridge will contain tequila, plates of pineapple, papaya and mango slippery as a seal. There's also a coffee machine and a blender, rusted to the core, but the most brilliant blender ever. Nothing else is needed. There are hammocks and day beds the colour of pomegranate, a lozenge-shaped pool for lolling in during the hottest hours of the day, and a beach ripe for combing. Here comes a naked man on a walk, over there some yoga buffs doing a stretch or two.

Tulum is a lot of fun - so scrappy and delicious - and here is a two-bedroom house that families can use as a perfect base. And if you do have any questions (where to find a shaman, or the best full-moon party) then there is always your villa butler, who'll be called something like Shakira, contactable via WhatsApp, and covered in tattoos and lots and lots of smiles.

Dervla Murphy used to say Ethiopia gave her the sense of living in different centuries simultaneously. In the Danakil, the great desert depression that lies in the east of the country, you feel it might be the very first century, even the first day, before God got around to filling in the empty spaces with fussy details like hills, vegetation and rivers. The landscapes are skeletal, elemental, thrilling and vast. Its inhabitants, the aloof Afar tribesmen, live in goat-skin tents like upturned coracles and control the salt trade that has been a feature of this place since the beginning of time.

This is the northernmost point of the Main Ethiopian Rift, where the earth's crust is breaking apart. In ancient calderas the desert becomes a kaleidoscope of mineral colour as fissures and fistulas, hot springs and geysers, bubble and toil. Further off stands a volcano whose lava lake is a spectacular cauldron of rumbling fire. An hour or so from that spectacle is Abaca, the first camp of this calibre in this part of the world.

As the desert dusk gathers, it seems as unreal as a mirage, offering simple pleasures in a wild place: flush loos and a bucket shower, chilled wine and a fine dinner of grilled fish and salads, comfortable beds pulled outside so you can sleep under a blanket of stars. And in the morning when you awake, camel caravans are passing, silently, on those great padded feet as they carry the blocks of salt towards the Highlands, towards civilisation, in a trade that once helped to make the Queen of Sheba rich.

Book Abaca Camp through Journeys by Design (+44 1273 623790; journeysbydesign.com) from £600 per person per night full board, with a recommended three-night stay

When the sun goes down, star-shaped bulbs light up, turning this into one of the most romantic courtyards in Paris. It's small, but big on detail: vintage wrought-iron chairs, an antique mirror on the wall and vases of fresh flowers. Owner and fashion editor Vanessa Scoffier leapt at the opportunity to revamp the former Résidence les Gobelins, located on the edge of the 13th arrondissement, well off the tourist track.

Despite this being her first foray into hotel design, she has managed the project herself, from the decor to the day-to-day running of the place. Each of the 32 bedrooms differs in style, like the amalgamation of Pinterest boards. Vintage cabinets picked up at Les Puces du Design sit alongside Michael Anastassiades lamps; beds are made with crisp linens from Merci.

Plywood lines some walls, thick stripes of paint in mustardy yellows and inky blues cover others. Headboards are made from beaten-up leather gym mats or decorated with bright pink washi tape. The result is quirky and cool without feeling too contrived. Scoffier has an interesting story to tell about every item: as she walks around the lobby she moves one old pharmacy bottle to make room for a scented candle, talking about the tubular radiator in the breakfast room once used in a market nearby. And while you might want to linger at this natty new addition to the Paris scene, the Metro can whizz you to the Louvre's pyramid in about 15 minutes.

The curious thing about Iceland isn't that it's like nowhere else on earth but that it's like lots of other places, only all at once and in startling, disorienting combinations. The Kenyan savannah plus the Scottish Highlands plus the Swiss Alps plus - with all that volcanic activity - the feistiest bits of Hawaii. Scientists explain Iceland's marvels with reference to tectonics and glaciers and geothermal jiggery-pokery, but really it's the stuff of dreams, not of textbooks. Dyrhólaey lighthouse, a couple of hours' drive south-east from Reykjavik, occupies an enchanted spot on a promontory high above a black pebble beach. There are lots of lighthouses in Iceland. But, for two months this year, this is the only one you can stay in unless you're an Icelandic lighthouse-keeper.

Though smartly done-up, and with a chef and a caretaker on hand if required, it's spare and spartan rather than plush and cushy, plus the lantern makes a whirry-clunky noise like an enormous washing machine. In short, you're not getting The Ritz - you're getting a functional lighthouse. But you're also getting to spend the night at the sheer edge of one of the most confoundingly beautiful, wildly romantic landscapes on the planet. With great empty spaces extending in every direction. And bracing clear air and crystalline northern light. And puffins. And tiny Icelandic horses. And Arctic foxes. And if the whirring and clunking of the lantern bothers you, you're getting earplugs too.

Every day during the summer a delicate ballet is enacted on Capri's Marina Piccola. The stage is the sea, the dancers are yachts. Little yachts, big yachts, superyachts, coming and going in an intricate sequence of pirouettes and glissades. The best seats from which to take in the performance are at Villa Gesomino, a converted farmhouse on the hillside overlooking the bay. On one of the terraces, perhaps, in the shade of a pergola overgrown with wisteria, bougainvillaea and jasmine, surrounded by lemon and olive trees, set in gardens that are themselves thick with the scent of oregano, sage and rosemary. Or, if not there, then on the canopy bed above the infinity pool, tiled in an elaborate mosaic of Murano glass. Or at the grand outdoor dining table. Or from one of the villa's five bedrooms, all of which face the sea, their interiors an almost all-white minimalist dream, the furniture sleek and simple - including chairs in the original fisherman's design that Giò Ponti appropriated for his classic 1950s Superleggera.

The villa was designed by a noted architect, Mattheo Thun. Where many 'neo-Caprese' villas have a 'Look at me!' showiness, this one is an ode to simplicity and discretion. It practically melts into its surroundings and, though within striking distance of the town centre, is reachable only on foot, 150 steps uphill from the nearest road. The villa is available privately for groups of up to 10 and comes with a full-time housekeeper and estate manager. Guests can also, if they wish, engage a butler and a chef (the architect himself, who designs menus too). You can even ask for a boat skipper, if you feel like participating in the ballet on the bay, rather than just watching it from on high.

Pretty much every fashion magazine, model, stylist and editor in the world has done a shoot here. And if they haven't done a shoot here, then they've stayed here. And fallen in love with its hedonistic ways. It makes everyone dream of building their own Edenic retreat hidden away from the donkey-din of Marrakech in the cool Palmeraie, where fantastical visions seem to become real bricks and mortar. But the Ezzahra estate would be hard to beat. Beautiful green lawns stretch away towards a twinkling pool under the electric Kool-Aid purple blooms of jacaranda trees. There is badminton to be played, tortoises to chase, a huge Berber tent in the garden like a pleasure dome of forbidden nights, and shisha pipes and cocktails with mint that tickles your nose.

Whatever the plan was here, they've nailed it. Outside fireplaces, masseurs on hand all day, every day, huge and wonderful rooms with baths that grow out of the wall like wishing wells. Although the main house has been up and running for more than a decade, the estate now grows, thrillingly, to include new, independent properties like this one, Villa Alkhozama, which has two bedrooms and its own stand-alone hammam. It is gorgeously done, and imaginative too, so that there's lots of slinking into this cool pool from the daybed in the heat of summer. Sleep here, if the night is tender, under the blast of a starry sky; nothing but birdsong will wake you in the morning. Go small or beautiful and take this house alone, or max out full-throttle and nab the whole lot for the best party ever. The staff here are such fun, so engaging and so delightful that everything appears, deliciously, in seconds. Plus, they've seen it all before.

Who lives in the buildings the builders are building? Why, the builders, of course. Dubai's skyline is like this wherever you go, a kind of play on the Darwinian evolution of architecture: massive, more massive, the massivest. One of every four cranes in existence is located here, swinging and lifting this desert city into its Middle Eastern golden age. This place feels very much at the calmer end of the spectrum, poised quietly on the tip of one of The Palm's long fronds. And whereas the other, older One&Only in the state is beloved, particularly by families, this hotel could argue it is the best in the entire region.

The rooms are huge, the staff are properly friendly, the hot mezze delicious. It is perfectly pitched in size and in proportion, as if a smart square of maisons has gathered around what is surely one of the world's loveliest pools. It's lovely because of its bold and snazzy Arabian pattern, which creates a Hockney-ish optical illusion of light as you swim, and because of the smaller, shallower pools that stream off its sides for gentle dipping and sipping lime and vodka cocktails while splashing about on ledges. On the hugely fat double sunbeds, lolling lizards hang out for the entire day without feeling the need to move. This is an indolent place all round: smiling guests do little but shimmy from beach to spa to cocktail bar to the terrace to smoke apple tobacco and watch it plume into a night sky streaked with both star and neon. Sometimes all you want to do is fly and flop somewhere hot and relatively close. Leave the UK at a reasonable time, sleep, and land just in time to start sunbathing on the beach. thepalm.oneandonlyresorts.com

Scott Dunn (+44 20 8682 5075; www.scottdunn.com) offers seven nights' B&B at One&Only The Palm from £2,043 per person, based on two sharing a Palm Manor House Premier Room, including dinner, return flights from UK and transfers.

Guy Chalkley, who founded this 29,500-acre private game reserve in the 1930s, called it 'a home made to order by Mother Nature'. Today, the three new treehouses at Lion Sands are as wild as Mother Nature or Guy Chalkley could wish - but in a gloriously elegant way. Each is totally secluded. There are no walls. No guards. No neighbours. After dusk, you're on your own, with a drawbridge to raise at night - and a radio. But here are unobstructed bush views, sweet African air and walk-on appearances by some of the continent's most impressive animals.

The reserve is adjacent to the Kruger National Park, and big beasts wander where they like; from these treehouses there are Royal Box views of their nocturnal shenanigans. From the glass-walled shower, watch fireflies dancing at dusk. Over a tapas picnic dinner, spot a dainty genet hunting or hear the rumble of an elephant as shooting stars whoosh by. There's so much to smell, to hear, to look out for that you might not want to go to bed at all. Then again, hot-water bottles and soft duvets, golden lamplight and a netted four-poster are pretty tempting. This is a place to revel in the sight of moonlight on bare skin, the mind-bending scale of the Milky Way above - and the slightly scary sound of some growly beastie, just by that bush over there... But never mind, there's a drawbridge. And a big torch. That'll scare it off… Lion Sands Game Reserve, South Africa (+27 11 880 9992; www.lionsands.com). Doubles from about £1,600

If HBO shot a season of Girls out west, the Rose would make an excellent location. Like Lena Dunham, creator and star of the show, it's a fearlessly original upstart, all the more charming for being a little out of shape. This isn't a good place to head for luxury or quiet - something the hotel's welcome letter frankly admits, appropriating Andy Warhol's advice to point out your faults in advance to new friends. The Rose's co-owner, fashion photographer Glen Luchford, describes it as a base for surfers, due to the proximity of the beach. The surf report is listed daily on a blackboard in the lobby. Going by its interiors, however, this is a place for artists.

There's a kind of erotic grittiness here. The enormous Simpson Suite is elegantly appointed with Turkish dressing gowns and a 1978 print by Dick Jewell, in which he juxtaposes Cosmo covers with awkward baby photos. But the walls are as thin as a waif, and the dining table has as many punctures on its surface as a Seventies rock star. It's not the usual hotel experience, and for that the Rose is to be admired or avoided, depending on your tastes. Are you inspired or unnerved by the view from your balcony? Rembrandt clouds, palm trees swaying, ocean waves dancing... and tramps rootling through the trash, working in tandem, like an artist's community. Check in here when you're ready to be for real with each other, to kiss passionately beneath a beautiful sunset - orange and pink, punk as hell. +1 310 450 3474; www.therosehotelvenice.com. Doubles from about £105

The peace and quiet. It's just you and 11 others, waited on by handsome mountain guides who double as yoga instructors, along with a raw-food chef and a handful of massage therapists. This £16-million, purpose-built wellness and adventure retreat opened in January as a place where the urban weary can find respite for the soul and time out from technology. Founded by US financier Chris Madison, a former devotee of The Ashram in California, and his on-site business partner Damian Chaparro, Aro Hā is fuelled by an impressive hydro-and-solar energy system. Add a kitchen garden and an earth cellar for harvested produce and you have guaranteed guilt-free dining for those who care about the planet. Start the day with sun salutations, climb a mountain peak or two before lunch, then have an afternoon of massages, health seminars and downward dog. Rooms - in larchwood buildings like the one pictured - are big, with down-covered beds to get lost in; and if you get bored (unlikely), just suck in the lake and mountain views from every window. Leave your Louboutins at home (or at least in your hotel at Queenstown, 45 minutes down the road). Dressing for supper here means running your fingers through your hair post-yoga, and the main lodge is barefoot luxury, literally.

The best kind of curiosity: unexpected, out of place, yet totally rooted. A pair of contemporary cabins that sit side by side at the edge of the Cais Palafítico, a gathering of authentic, in-use fishermen's stilt-houses on the Sado Estuary. This part of the Alentejo is just an hour south of Lisbon, but it couldn't feel more remote. Portuguese architect Manuel Aires Mateus (also responsible for the rental villa Casas na Areia in the nearby village of Carrasqueira) has created these minimalist boxes of wonder. The first, pictured, has a double bed wrapped in a crisp puff of white sheets, raised on a platform and protected by mosquito netting (crucial in this sort of reedy, wetland environment), and a bathroom whose floor-to-ceiling wooden door can roll all the way open on its castors for showering with an uninterrupted view of the marshes. In the next-door hut, a little kitchen is squirrelled away along the back wall, clad, like everything else here, in sweet-smelling recycled timber. Deep, linen-covered Gervasoni Ghost armchairs by Paola Navone are matched with the same designer's side tables. Wi-Fi is finger-clicking swift, but here it would be more appropriate to take out the kayak tied up at the end of the private pontoon, or visit the windswept beaches of Comporta a few minutes' drive away.

It is summer in Florence. The Ponte Vecchio is crowded with tourists, some lusting after gold in shop windows, others pausing for selfies. But few will be aware of this reworked stunner from the Ferragamo family, overlooking the bridge from the north bank of the Arno. For Portrait Firenze is nothing if not discreet. Architect and designer Michele Bönan's classic-contemporary interiors will be recognisable to those familiar with his work at the Ferragamos' other hotels - four in Florence, a couple in the Tuscan countryside and one in Rome - and of course the sensational JK Place properties. For Portrait Firenze, Bönan was inspired by the 1950s, when Florence was the haute couture capital of Italy. The only place you might see other guests is in lovely Caffè dell'Oro, where the all-day menu kicks off with a splendid breakfast and can continue through to supper (there's a wonderfully zingy spaghetti with smoked mullet roe, cherry tomatoes and lemon zest). The design will appeal to style hounds, but the large suites are also likely to be a draw for families, and the magnificent Penthouse Floor (sleeps 10) is private-apartment living in the city at its best.

The most striking thing about Jabal Akhdar, the newest opening from the fantastically smart Alila gang, is what's missing: noise. Stand on your balcony, 2,000 metres above sea level, overlooking a plunging precipice, and only a whisper of a breeze disturbs the peace. It feels remote. And it is. A two-hour drive from the coast and the capital, Muscat, the final 30km ascent is a head-spinning ride of serpentine bends. This clutch of low-slung buildings, set on a lofty ridge and built from ophiolite rock, merges seamlessly with its surroundings: lunar-like elevations with a crumpling topography and layers of strata in a subtly changing palette of earthy colours. Inside, bedrooms are a restrained mix of minimalism and ethnic chic. There are monolithic marble baths, Omani textiles, dark-wood beams and hand-painted juniper-branch motifs on the walls. Slip into the infinity pool and gaze out over the gorge as the sun sets, then sit down to a supper of lamb biryani and raita studded with pomegranate seeds, beneath a carpet of stars. Jabal Akhdar means 'The Green Mountain' in Arabic. Ask a guide to take you on a hike through one of the wadis, such as nearby Bani Habib, where startling flashes of verdant life - orchards of walnut, almond and apricot trees - are hidden in the foothills and irrigated by springs using special channels called falaj.

Because to wake up here is to feel happy. How can that force of light and expanse of mountain and sea fail to put a smile on your face? Directly below are Cape Town's famous Clifton beaches, distinguished by prosaic numbers and sociological demarcations: surfer dudes hang out on First Beach, Second is family-friendly, Third is gay and Fourth is for the universally physically blessed. Beyond is the more egalitarian Camps Bay, backed by the Twelve Apostles mountain range. The new-ish Cape View Clifton has five suites and two apartments, and its owner, interior designer Jess Latimer, has got the interiors just right: natural fabrics, contemporary lines, the occasional good antique or posy of fresh flowers. 'I'm a little OCD about the way things look,' says Latimer, who lives next door and runs the place with Mitch Terry, formerly of Ellerman House. In the kitchens, Celeste and Charmaine rustle up superb breakfasts - toasted brioche with bacon, berry compote and a dollop of mascarpone - and still-warm cakes for tea. It's easy to see why guests (one of whom has stayed five times since it opened in November 2012) treat this place like home.

INSIDE TIP Little Beach is a tiny secluded spot just past the crowded cafés and restaurants of Camp's Bay, a five-minute drive from the Cape View. With so few visitors, the enviably bronzed lifeguard has little to do but read books all day. Head here to do the same.

You might think beachside Brazil is all about the fleshpots of Copacabana, but the fishing village of Paraty, between Rio and São Paulo, has a much more laid-back side. Founded in the 16th century by the Portuguese, its car-free, cobblestoned streets and boat-cluttered harbour are a draw for weekending Paulistas. Not far from the water's edge is this three-bedroom bolthole, the latest concept from innovative French hotelier Thierry Teyssier, the man behind the extraordinary Dar Ahlam in Morocco. The pretty colonial façade, with its sage-coloured doorframes and shutters, is a departure from its more jauntily hued neighbours. Inside, architect and collector Alain Demachy has created an effortlessly smart seaside vibe, with earthy tones, soft stripes, Wishbone chairs and crisp linens, set off by black-and-white photography. Sitting around the table at night after a traditional moqueca (a Bahian-style fish stew), all you can hear is the soft whirr of the ceiling fan and the sound of cicadas chirping in the lush, green garden. By day, take a trip on the house's boat, Sem Presa, to explore the coastline's castaway islands. The crew will drop you on a deserted beach edged by a tourmaline sea and serve a lunch of freshly landed shrimp, rustled up in the tiny onboard kitchen.

INSIDE TIP There's a catch: the house is only available to rent from now until 20 July. It's the ultimate pop-up, a precursor to Teyssier's permanent House of Dreams, under construction one block away and scheduled to open next year.

To wake up here is to see all colours blue. Open the shutters and breathe in the sea-salty tang of heat, flop in to the pool, lever yourself out the other side and it's barely 20 steps through icing-sugar sand to the sea and the friendliest little hermit crabs taking their morning dip. Collecting them, and sticking them in a hole lovingly dug by small spades and even smaller hands, will be the week's most focused activity. There's barely any reason to wear clothes, such is the privacy here, with absolutely no neighbours to the right of you despite having an 180-degree outlook over the ocean. Though it might be a little disturbing for your private butler when he carries in a round of mango smoothies and asks if anyone wants to go looking for dolphins. The Maldives are famously solipsistic, but not one of them can be as Willy Wonka wonderful as Soneva Fushi, which seems like the original and now - under enduring love and rolling refurbishment - still feels like the favourite. With a chilled Chocolate Room, treehouse restaurant and a new children's zone in the shape of a manta ray with pool slides, pirate ships and Lego rooms, it's like a fantasy of the unchecked imagination. Forget the inertia that the Maldives is criticised for: here you will simply not have time to do everything.

INSIDE TIP: Despite its dynamic spirit, Soneva Fushi is also a very wild, untamed tropical island. Bunnies flop around through the undergrowth (which is curious), so look out for them as you wheel about on your bicycle getting happily lost. Do not miss the spa; it'll always have fascinating people in residency, including the healer Jacqueline Bourbon.

Carrier (+44 161 492 1358; www.carrier.co.uk) offers seven nights from £2,885 per person half board, based on two sharing in a Soneva Fushi Villa, including return flights from Gatwick with British Airways and seaplane transfers

We all think Mustique is terrifyingly fancy-pants. Someone once told me it was like Necker but with a hundred Richards. Only it's not, at all. Yes, there are the turbo-villas, the all-singing, all-dancing multi-mansions. But then there is a groovier, cuter side to the island, too, with houses like this. Greystone is just a cottage - castellated and turreted, but still just a cottage. Designed and built by Swedish architect Arne Hasselqvist, this pocket-sized castle is tucked away between bougainvillaea and tumbling hibiscus. The style is laid-back and beachy, with whitewashed walls, smooth limestone underfoot and a swoop of pebble-lined pool. Up in the larger bedroom, the four-poster looks out on this. Below is Britannia Bay, where yachts come in and bob about while their sailors make for a Dark and Stormy at Basil's. Fill up both rooms, then do the maths, and it turns out this funky little holiday hotspot doesn't need a billionaire's bank balance after all.

INSIDE TIP: Take your Kawasaki Mule (the house comes with one) and drive down to wild and woolly Pasture Bay early one morning. You can't swim here, but you will have it all to yourself for a picnic breakfast.

You don't often find yourself staying somewhere so exhilaratingly remote. This uncharted corner of the Sahara, bordered by Libya to the west and Sudan to the south, six hours' drive from Luxor across the shifting sand sea of the Western Desert, is as far-flung as you can get without verging into tricky territory. Out here, in this bleached barren landscape, is an oasis, date-palm-filled and lush. And in that oasis is Al Tarfa, a secret little mirage of an eco-lodge. It is an unbelievably pretty gathering of cool, mud-walled villas, linked by lantern-lined sandy pathways through a bougainvillaea-bright garden. In the rooms, it is Provence meets Out of Africa, with open fireplaces, wrought-iron canopied beds and dove-grey French armchairs. At the end of a dusty day, after spine-jolting camel treks, four-wheel-drive dune safaris, mind-blowing pharaonic temple-viewing and whiffy sulphuric dips in the Roman hot springs, the muezzin's call to prayer begins to sound from a nearby hamlet, and the setting sun casts a perfect dusky-pink glow on the surrounding limestone escarpment. Gin and tonics appear on silver trays, and supper - salad of sweet tomatoes from the local farm, spiced aubergines plucked from the ground that day - is served under an inky-blue sky. Robert De Niro and the Bulgari family come here to escape.

INSIDE TIP The tiny, dome-ceilinged spa has a sauna, steam room and mosaic-lined plunge pool to bathe away the last remnants of desert dirt, but do ask in advance if you would like a therapist to be on hand for treatments. The Thai massages are brutal but brilliant.

The Costa Smeralda may be the glittering social hub of Sardinia - but across the bay, Capo d'Orso has serenity, scented myrtle plants and space to stretch and swim.

Sweet little paths run through the olive trees from beach to beach, and sun decks are dotted along the coastline, with steps leading down into the startlingly clear waters of the Mediterranean Sea.

The view from the terrace of this two-bedroom suite looks out across terracotta Sardinian rooftops and olive trees to the Costa Smeralda on the opposite shore. Below, the Pulcinella - a Danish sailing ship with an Italian name - is moored at the hotel's own little jetty, across the blue waters where the yachts of billionaires cut across the bay, to the phenomenally blue Baja Sardinia on the other side.

Around the headland opposite is Porto Cervo, the 1960s playboy-playground of the Aga Khan and, today, of the Abramovich crew. While off to the left, looking north, are the castaway islands of La Maddalena archipelago, a national park with untouched landscapes and, around them, shallows of water as pale blue and clear as swimming pools.

Similar views can be had from the hotel spa's Turkish bath, which has a steamy glass wall to look through as you sweat it out; the outdoor gym, and the terrace of restaurant Olivastri, named for all the olive trees, which are lit by little lanterns in the evenings.

From this room at The Lugger Hotel, a tiny bay's jagged cliff, softened by green grassy mounds in the miniature village of Portloe, can be seen reaching into crystal-clean turquoise waters. Guests here (previous visitors include the Camerons) wake up to the soft sloosh of waves across the small enclave of white sandy beach below.

The Cornish hotel has 22 rooms (make sure you book one with a sea view), a spa with a menu of rejuvenating and relaxing therapies and a well-regarded restaurant headed by Chef Jonathan Done, who changes the menu daily to work with the fresh local produce farmed nearby and caught in the sea in front of the hotel; lobster is a staple during summer months, expect crab, wild garlic, pigeon, rock samphire, homemade bread and pastas, and rabbit.

Picturesque Portloe has no street lights (and little phone signal), making it a stargazer's dream all year round. In spring and summer cool sea breezes blow through open shutters and in autumn and winter crisp walks are followed by hot toddies and open fires. The hotel's General Manager places a story and weather report on your pillow each night and, when the weather's not so balmy, loans macs, brollies and wellies to guests, too.

Think of a hotel room in Venice and you might picture yourself looking down the Grand Canal from the Gritti, the Monaco, the Bauer or, at the other end of the scale, peering out on to a brick wall in Piazzale Roma. Venissa is about the joy of being in Venice, but not being in Venice. Here you are on the brink of one of the greatest cities in the world - the wonders (and the crowds) are over the water, a vaporetto ride away. But this ostello on the speck-in-the-lagoon island of Mazzorbo is yours: a little retreat so well hidden that some La Serenissima old hands haven't clocked it yet. And it's a sensation. The six Scandinavian-style bedrooms are minimal, fuss free, and set in the greenest, most bounteous walled grounds, full of the sound of birdsong and the smell of warm earth. The vineyards, with row after row of perfectly plump grapes, are right there, in front of your sun-dappled breakfast table.

INSIDE TIP: The Michelin-starred kitchen, under new chef Antonia Klugmann, dishes up the prettiest and the freshest food imaginable - cuttlefish hoiked out of the Adriatic that morning, spiny artichokes and fat tomatoes plucked from the garden, the zest of a lemon straight off the tree.

You have to sleep with all the shutters open here. This bedroom, on the first floor of the deeply charming, restored finca, has muslin-curtained windows on three sides and as the sun rises, it heats the salty breeze that blows in across the bed. If you sit up, you get this view, with the Roman-nose rock at Cap d'es Falco and the flat expanse of Formentera on the horizon. Below is the pool, bordered not only with a neat row of white-cotton-covered sunbeds but also by tumbling fuchsia bougainvillaea, clipped lawns, wheels of rosemary and lavender and a trio of fat-trunked palms. A 300-year-old carob tree stands guard next to a four-poster daybed. It's fantastically peaceful but not isolated. This is the south coast of the island where everything - the old town of Dalt Vila, the sandy shores of Ses Salines and Es Cavallet, the revelry at Ushuaia Tower in Playa d'en Bossa - is 15 minutes away. The smooth-pebbled beach of Cala Jondal is a short drive down the hill, and two of Ibiza's best fish restaurants, Es Xarcu and Es Torrent, are in the next bay along. If you listen carefully late in the afternoon, beats from the Blue Marlin beach club waft up on the rolling edge of a warm wind.

INSIDER TIP: Come in September when the sea is like bathwater, the crowds have eased, the closing parties are kicking off and the villas are practically half price.

It's the location that makes this resort special. Because it's not on flashy Phuket. Because it's not on overcrowded Samui. Because this island is a secret only more progressive travellers know about. It has different colours from the rest of Thailand: the sea is a kind of loch-green, the sand is thick clotted cream. Sounds in the morning include the muezzin call to prayer. It feels sheltered, unspoilt and protected, as if this finger of land pointing down into the Malacca Strait is too much of a schlep to get to - so the developers haven't bothered. And here is a place to stay that is totally undemanding, with simple but deeply comfortable rooms and villas scattered - just far enough apart - throughout the dense jungle. Great sliding glass doors open out to terraces that peer down to a gorgeous scoop of beach. Longboats put-put-put in and out of view and every now and then a seaplane drops by; but mostly it's like this, with still waters for lolling about in, a palm-thatched bar serving cold Singha beer and prawns fished out of the bay, the creak of the cashew trees in the breeze and the clatter of a monkey on top of a terracotta-tiled roof.

The joke among locals on the island of Mykonos is that the best way to secure a spot on exclusive Psarou Beach, four kilometres south of Mykonos Town, is to book a room at five-star Mykonos Blu, which sits on a bluf with its own private stretch of sand. If you're not lucky enough to score a room at the hotel (this view is from the hotel's two-suite villa), you can avoid an unseemly scramble for a sun-lounger on the public beach by booking in advance. Alternatively, you could copy Roman Abramovich, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Mika Häkkinen and swing by in your own yacht, dropping anchor in the cove's turquoise waters. While Psarou Beach is all about sunbathing, nearby Paradise Beach is for partying. With this in mind, the very civilised Mykonos Blu serves breakfast (serious recovery food such as bacon and eggs, and banana pancakes) until 6pm. Mykonos Blu, Psarou, Mykonos, Greece (00 30 22890 27900; www.mykonosblu.com). Bungalows from about £175; Endless Blu Villa from about £1,790[/i]

When charismatic conversationalist Clara Livingston inherited a Puerto Rican coconut plantation in 1923, aged just 22, it was highly unusual for a woman to own property in the Caribbean. Despite attempts by authorities to seize the land, she dug her heels in, building fences and patrolling on her white horse, pistol in hand. In the 1950s, she sold most of the estate to philanthropist Laurance Rockefeller, who opened an eco-hotel, Rockefeller's, in 1958, to which friends such as Ava Gardner, Joan Crawford and President Dwight Eisenhower flocked. The latest incarnation pays homage to its predecessors in a number of ways: no trees have been cut down, buildings are below the tree line and Livingston's original hacienda, Su Casa, has been restored and is now the hotel's smartest villa. This view is from one of the Tranquility Suites. Like all rooms here, it's on the beach. Had it been built today, this wouldn't have been allowed, but luckily for guests it's in the footprint of the old Rockefeller's, erected before such rules existed.

There's something absurdly magical about Bhutan. This is due partly to the landscape - a pristine wilderness of soaring mountains, plunging gorges and piercingly green forests, all dusted with tiny villages aflutter with prayer flags - and partly to the spirituality of a largely Bhuddhist nation that promotes Gross National Happiness over Gross National Product. This is the view from a one-bedroom villa at the new COMO Uma Punahka, five hours' drive east of its sibling, COMO Uma Paro. The thundering Mo Chhu ('mother river') rushes past it to meet Pho Chhu ('father river') further upstream. At this confluence is Bhutan's most impressive monastery, Punakha Dzong ('palace of great happiness'), winter residence of the head abbot, Je Khenpo, and the setting for the recent wedding of Bhutan's King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck to 21-year-old Jetsun Pema. COMO Uma Punahka, Bhutan.Doubles from US$484 (00 975 827 1597; www.comohotels.com/umapunakha)

For a quintessential Greek Islands experience, it doesn't get much better than Mykonos Town, a higgledy-piggledy maze of whitewashed buildings designed to confuse the pirates who plagued the island in the 18th and early 19th centuries. This is the view from a first-floor room just above the main pool at the Belvedere, a small, stylish hotel on the hillside of Rohari, set partly in one of the island's oldest mansions (dating back to 1850), and in seven contemporary buildings, all within beautiful gardens of cypress trees, wild laurels and bougainvillea. Across town is the Aegean Sea, and guests wake to the chirrup of birds and the soft hum of island life. The cluster of trees in the centre of this shot are in the nearby leafy Lakka neighbourhood, known for its Italian restaurants. If you look hard enough you can just make out - on the horizon, to the right - the windswept island of Tinos, famous for its church of Panagía Evangelístria, where Greek Orthodox pilgrims gather annually to pray at the icon of the Virgin Mary.

This postcard-perfect slice of the Manhattan skyline is the view from a 23rd-floor room at the new Mondrian SoHo on Crosby Street. The hotel, designed by Benjamin Noriega-Ortiz, opened in March at the heart of this hip Downtown neighbourhood near two of the city's most fashionable department stores, Opening Ceremony and Sander. The hotel occupies all 25 floors of a new modern tower and, while the top floor is reserved for the grand Penthouse Suite, the views from this north-facing, mid-range Deluxe Queen room just two floors below are equally glorious. The centrepiece is, of course, the Art Deco landmark Empire State Building, currently the tallest in the city, with the Bank of America building (with its blue spike) to the left and the New York Life building (with the gold light at the top) to the right.

From this 16th-floor deluxe sea-view room at the Hotel Arts Barcelona, Frank Gehry's monumental fish sculpture, 56 metres long and 35 metres high, appears to be leaping into the ocean, especially when the sun hits the interwoven stainless-steel strips that form its scales. Built right on the waterfront as part of the Olympic Village constructed for the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, the sculpture marked Gehry's first foray into computer-aided design. The hotel's lush garden terraces lie in the shadow of the sculpture; just out of shot to the left is the hotel's outdoor pool and beyond that, the Port Olimpic. To the right is Barceloneta, one of the city's most vibrant neighbourhoods, built in the 18th century to rehouse those displaced by the building of a new fortress (La Ciutadella, now a park) by King Philip V of Spain. Barceloneta also has one of the best beaches in the city.

There are 12 villas on the Domaine de Murtoli, a 5,000-acre farming estate on the rugged south-west coast of Corsica, named after the myrtle trees that grow here in abundance. All wonderfully rustic and unspeakably chic, the villas have been developed by owner Paul Canarelli (who inherited the estate from his grandfather) from old farm buildings - mostly shepherds' huts. This is the view from A Liccia ('oak' in Corsican), which was built on one of the highest points on the estate so the farmer could keep an eye on his flocks and spot any potential invaders. The villa sleeps 10 and has a private pool (which you can see in the foreground) and a hammam. The beach, which sweeps across the centre of this view, is a short drive or a 45-minute walk away. The estate is still used for arable and pastoral farming, and guests dining at either of its two restaurants - or cooking in their villa - can enjoy fruit and vegetables from the kitchen garden, veal and lamb from the farm, and fish and seafood straight from the ocean.

Twice the size of Belgium and four times the size of the Serengeti, the Selous Game Reserve is home to half of Tanzania's elephant population. This is the view from Tent Sita ('six' in Swahili) at the Selous Safari Camp on the shores of Lake Nzerakera. The camp is divided into two parts: North (six tents) and South (seven tents). Tent Sita is in North camp, which is closer to the lake. Each of the en-suite, canvas-under-thatch tents has two verandahs - perfect for private dining or sipping an early-morning coffee. The camp's watery position ensures excellent game-viewing from your tent, giraffes providing the most common sightings as they stride gracefully to the water's edge to drink; other regulars include elephants, hippos, lions and crocodiles. There are also several shallow areas where, if you're lucky, you will see animals crossing the lake as if on stepping stones.

Selous Game Reserve, Tanzania (00 255 22 212 8485; www.selous.com). Tents from US$1,100, full board, including all game drives and park/concession fees

It may be less than an hour's drive from Dubai, but the recently opened desert resort of Banyan Tree Al Wadi in the emirate of Ras Al Khaimah feels a world away from the bustle of the city. Set on 100 hectares, of which more than half is a nature reserve protecting the evergreen ghaf tree, the resort's villas fan out around the edge of the property, with the rolling desert stretching for miles beyond. This is the view from an Al Sahari Tented Pool Villa, which wraps around the sun deck and pool you see here (the bedroom is on the left, the bathroom on the right). Framed by the daybed is one of four watchtowers at the resort, faithful recreations of 19th-century fortifications typical of the region (there were once about 60 in Ras Al Khaimah). One of the towers is used for private dining so guests can enjoy views across the wild desert plain, uninterrupted but for the occasional passing oryx or gazelle.